Backstory: My brother and sister and I grew up on a very quiet street next to the ocean with essentially no neighbors. Every Halloween, we would buy candy and wait for the trick-or-treaters and every year we would have to eat all the candy ourselves because no one ever came to the house.
After a while, my parents just turned the lights off and took us to my aunt’s neighborhood to trick-or-treat. Our family house was useless, as far as Halloween festivities were concerned. I think, in the course of my two decades living at home, I saw only three trick-or-treaters come to our house. Pathetic.
Cruise about 20 years forward to my brother owning his very own house in a nice neighborhood populated with Real People. Several decades of oppressed Halloween hauntings have bubbled up for Darrell, and he’s taking it all out on his lawn. As exemplified here:
My brother stood on his front lawn dressed as a ghoul (much like my nephew’s costume, pictured above), underneath a streetlight, and danced for the passing cars. My mother laughed until she cried. My stomach still hurts today from laughing.
After a long weekend of sadness, with the wake and the funeral and all the tears that come with those moments, it’s been very tough. And while I have so many stories to tell about my Grammie, I’m too exhausted to try and find the words now. I needed to laugh last night. Hard.